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THE TOILING OF FELIX 

A LEGEND 

ON A NEW SAYING OF JESUS 



TN the ruhbbh heaps of the ancient city of 
-*■ Oxyrhynchus, near the ri^er Nile, a party 
of English Explorers, in the <winier of tB97, 
discovered a fragment of a papyrus book, 
^written in the Second or Third Century^ and 
hitherto unkno'Qin* This single leaf contained 
parts of se<ven short sentences of Christ, each 
introduced by the ^coords, ** Jesus says:** It 
is to the fifth of these Sayings of Jesus that 
the following poem refers. 



THE TOILING OF FELIX 
AND OTHER POEMS 



*-:.' Uiy/^Jh'!*' »\ ''.:.'. .'. . . 



^ 






S'lVltttfi'^ 



THE TOIUNC 
or FELIXY^Y 
AND OTHER 
POEMS? BY 
TAVHENKT 



ChftjrIeA ScxKneTS Sons 












1 



Copyright, 1900, by Charles Scribner's Sons 



TWO COF>IES RjbiCEi' 



tjbrary of coB^ree% 

MAR 94 1900 ^^i 



57089 



SECOND COPY, 






CONTENTS 




THE TOILING OF FELIX 


Page 


Prelude 


3 


Legend 


6 


Envoy 


24 


VERA 


29 


ANOTHER CHANCE 


57 


SEVEN SMALL SONGS 




The Angler's Reveille 


65 


A Bit of Good Luck 


69 


A Slumber-Song 


71 


The Echo in the Heart 


73 


A November Daisy 


75 


The River of Dreams 


77 


The Ruby-Crowned Kinglet 


85 



PRELUDE 

A LOST WORD OF JESUS 

TJEAR a word that Jesus spake 
Eighteen centuries ago, 
Where the crimson lilies blow 
Round the blue Tiberian lake : 
There the bread of life he brake, 

Through the fields of harvest walking 
With His lowly comrades, talking 
Of the secret thoughts that feed 
Weary hearts in time of need. 
Art thou hungry ? Come and take ; 
Hear the word that Jesus spake : 
'T is the sacrament of labour ; meat and drink 

divinely blest; 
Friendship's food, and sweet refreshment; 
strength and courage, joy and rest. 



Yet this word the Master said, 

Long ago and far away, 

Silent and forgotten lay 
Buried with the silent dead, — 
Where the sands of Egypt spread, 

Sea-like, tawny billows heaping 

Over ancient cities sleeping ; 
While the River Nile between 
Rolls its summer flood of green, 

Rolls its autumn flood of red, — 

There the word the Master said, 
Written on a frail papyrus, scorched by fire, 

wrinkled, torn, 
Hidden in God's hand, was waiting for its 

resurrection morn. 



Hear the Master's risen word ! 

Delving spades have set it free, — 

V/ake ! the world has need of thee, — 
Rise, and let thy voice be heard, 
Like a fountain disinterred. 

Upward springing, singing, sparkling ; 

Through the doubtful shadows darkling ; 

Till the clouds of pain and rage 

Brooding o'er the toiling age, 
As with rifts of light are stirred 
By the music of the Word; 
Gospel for the heavy-laden, answer to the 

labourer's cry ; 
^^ Raise the stone, and thou shatt find Me; cleave the 

m)ood, and there aml/^ 



LEGEND 

THE TOILING OF FELIX 

TISTEN, ye who look for Jesus, long to see 

Him close to you, 
To a legend of this saying ; how one tried, and 

found it true. 



^ Born in Egypt, 'neath the shadow of the crum- 
bling gods of night, 
/^ He forsook the ancient darkness, turned his 
young heart toward the Light. 

Felix was the name they gave him, when his 

faith w^as first confessed ; 
But the name was unavailing, for his life was 

yet unblessed. 

^ Seeking Christ, in vain he waited for the vision 
of the Lord ; 
/ Vainly pondered all the volumes where the 
creeds of men were stored ; 



Vainly shut himself in silence, keeping vigil 

night and day ; 
^Vainly haunted shrines and churches where 
the Christians came to pray. 

^ One by one he dropped the duties of the com- 
mon life of care ; 

^ Broke the human ties that bound him ; laid his 
spirit waste and bare ; 

Hoping that the Lord would enter to that 

empty dwelling-place, 
And reward the loss of all things with the 

vision of His face. 

Still the blessed vision tarried ; still the light 

w^as unrevealed ; 
Still the Master, dim and distant, kept His 

countenance concealed. 

Fainter grew the hope of finding, wearier grew 

the fruitless quest ; 
Prayer, and penitence, and fasting gave no 

comfort, brought no rest. 



In the darkness of the temple, ere the lamp of 

faith went out, 
Felix knelt before the altar — lonely, sad, and 

full of doubt. 

" Hear me, O thou mighty Master," from the 

altar-step he cried, 
*' Let my one desire be granted, let my hope 

be satisfied ! 

" Only once I long to see thee, in the fulness of 

Thy grace : 
Break the clouds that now enfold Thee, with 

the sunrise of Thy face ! 

" All that men desire and treasure have I 

counted loss for Thee ; 
Every task have I forsaken, save this one — 

my Lord to see. 

" Loosed the sacred bands of friendship, soli- 
tary stands my heart ; 

Thou shalt be my sole companion when I see 
Thee as Thou art. 



** From Thy distant throne in glory, flash upon 
my inward sight, 

Fill the midnight of my spirit with the splen- 
dour of Thy light. 

** All Thine other gifts and blessings, common 

mercies, I disown ; 
Separated from my brothers, I w^ould see Thy 

face alone. 

** Let them toil and pray together, let them win 

earth's best reward. 
This shall be my only glory — I alone have 

seen the Lord. 

** I have w^atched and I have waited as one 

watcheth for the morn : 
Still Thou hidest in the heavens, still Thou 

leavest me forlorn. 

**Now I seek Thee in the desert, where the 
holy hermits dwell ; i 

There, beside the saint Serapion, I will find a.' 
lonely cell. 



" There at last Thou wilt be gracious ; there 
Thy presence, long-concealed, 

In the solitude and silence to my heart shall 
stand revealed. 

** Thou Shalt come, at morn or even, o*er the 

rolling "waves of sand ; 
I shall see Thee close beside me, I shall touch 

Thy pierced hand. 

** Lo, Thy pilgrim kneels before Thee ; bless 

my journey with a word ; 
Tell me now that, if I follow, I shall find Thee, 

O my Lord ! " 

Felix listened : through the darkness, like the 

whispering of the wind, 
Came a secret voice in answer : ** Seek aright, 

and thou shalt find." 

Long and toilsome was his pathway through 

the heavy land of heat, 
Egypt's blazing sun above him, blistering sands 

beneath his feet. 



10 



Still he plodded slowly onward, step by step 

and mile by mile, 
Till he reached the rugged mountain, beetling 

high above the Nile, 

Where the birds of air assemble, once a year, 

their noisy flocks. 
Then, departing, leave their sentinel perched 

among the barren rocks. 

Far away, on wings of gladness, over land and 

sea they fly ; 
But the watcher on the summit lonely stands 

against the sky. 

There the eremite Serapion in a cave had made 

his bed ; 
There the bands of wandering pilgrims sought 

his blessing, brought him bread. 

Month by month, in deep seclusion, hidden in 

the ro6ky cleft. 
Dwelt the hermit, fasting, praying ; once a year 

the cave he left. 



XX 



On that day, one happy pilgrim, chosen out of 

all the land, 
Won a special sign of favour from the holy 

hermit's hand. 

Underneath the narrow window, at the door- 
way closely sealed, 

While the afterglow of sunset deepened round 
him, Felix kneeled. 

" Man of God, of men most holy — thou whose 

gifts cannot be priced ! — 
Grant me thy most precious guerdon ; tell me 
how to find the Christ." 

Breathless, Felix bowed and listened, but no 

answering voice he heard ; 
Darkness folded, dumb and deathlike, round the 

Mountain of the Bird. 

Then he said, ** The saint is silent — he would 

teach my soul to wait ; 
I will tarry here in patience, like a beggar at 

his gate." 



12 



So the companies of pilgrims, clambering up 

the rocky stair, 
Found the lonely, voiceless stranger by the 

window, lost in prayer, 

Never moving from his station, watching there 

w^ithout complaint, — 
Soon they came to call him holy, fed him as 

they fed the saint. 

Day by day he saw the sunrise flood the distant 

plain with gold. 
While the River Nile beneath him, silvery 

coiling, seaward rolled. 

Night by night he saw the planets range their 

glittering court on high, 
Saw the moon, with regal motion, mount her 

throne and rule the sky. 

Morn advanced and midnight fled, in visionary 

pomp attired ; 
Never morn and never midnight brought the 

vision long-desired. 



13 



Now at last the day is dawning when Serapion 

makes his gift ; 
Felix kneels before the threshold, hardly dares 

his eyes to lift. 

Now the cavern door uncloses, now the saint 

above him stands, 
Blesses him without a word, and leaves a token 

in his hands. 

'T is the guerdon of thy w^aiting — look ! thou 
happy pilgrim, look ! — 

Nothing but a tattered fragment of an old papy- 
rus book. 

Read ! perchance the clue to guide thee tangled 

in the words may lie : 
" ^atse the stone, and thou shalt find Me; dea've the 

ivood, and there am I/^ 

Can it be the mighty Master spake such simple 

words as these ? 
Can it be that men must seek Him, at their 

toil, 'mid rocks and trees ? 



14 



Disappointed, heavy-hearted, from the Moun- 
tain of the Bird 

Felix mournfully descended, questioning the 
Master's word. 

Not for him a sacred dwelling, far above the 

haunts of men : 
He must turn his footsteps backward to the 

common life again. 

From a quarry by the river, hollowed out 

below^ the hills, 
Rose the clattering voice of labour, clanking 

hammers, clinking drills. 

Dust, and noise, and hot confusion made a 

Babel of the spot : 
There, among the lowliest workers, Felix 

sought and found his lot. 

Now he swung the ponderous mallet, smote 

the iron in the rock — 
Muscles quivering, tingling, throbbing — blow 

on blow and shock on shock ; 



15 



Now he drove the willow wedges, wet them till 

they swelled and split, 
With their silent strength, the fragment — sent 

it thundering down the pit. 

Now the groaning tackle raised it ; now the roll- 
ers made it slide ; 

Harnessed men, like beasts of burden, drew^ it 
to the river-side. 

Now the palm-trees must be riven, massive 
timbers hewn and dressed — 

Rafts to bear the stones in safety on the rushing 
river's breast. 

Axe and auger, saw and chisel, wrought the will 

of man in wood : 
'Mid the many-handed labour Felix toiled, and 

found it good. 

Every day the blood ran fleeter through his 

limbs and round his heart ; 
Every night his sleep was sweeter, knowing he 

had done his part. 



z6 



* Dreams of solitary saintship faded from him ; 

but, instead, 

* Came a sense of daily comfort, in the toil for 

daily bread. 

"^Far away, across the river, gleamed the white 

walls of the town 
^ Whither all the stones and timbers, day by day, 
were drifted down. 

There the workman saw his labour taking form 

and bearing fruit, 
Like a tree with splendid branches rising from a 

humble root. 

% LfOoking at the distant city, temples, houses, 

domes, and towers, 
,^ Felix cried in exultation : " All the mighty work 
is ours. 

** Every mason in the quarry, every builder on 
the shore. 

Every chopper in the palm-grove, every rafts- 
man at the oar — 



17 



" Hewing wood and drawing water, splitting 

stones and cleaving sod — 
All the dusty ranks of labour, in the regiment 

of God, 

" March together toward His triumph, do the 

task His hands prepare : 
Honest toil is holy service ; faithful w^ork is 

praise and prayer." 

*So through all the heat and burden Felix felt 

the sense of rest 
\ Flowing softly, like a fountain, deep within his 

weary breast. 

'■ Felt the brotherhood of labour, rising round him "^ 

like the tide, 
y Overflow his heart, and join him to the workers 

at his side. 

Oft he cheered them with his singing at the 

breaking of the light, 
Told them tales of Christ at nooning, taught 

them words of prayer at night. 



i8 



So he felt the Master's presence drawing 

closer all the while : 
Though the Master's face was hidden, yet he 

knew it wore a smile. 

Once he bent above a comrade fainting in the 

mid-day heat, 
Sheltered him with woven palm-leaves, gave 

him water, cool and sweet. 

Then it seemed, for one swift moment, secret 

radiance filled the place; 
Underneath the green palm-branches flashed 

one look of Jesus' face. 

Once again, a raftsman, slipping, plunged be- 
neath the stream and sank ; 

Swiftly Felix leaped to rescue — caught him, 
drew him toward the bank — 

Battling with the cruel river, using all his 

strength to save — 
Did he dream? or was there One beside him 

walking on the wave? 



19 



Now at last the work was ended ; grove de- 
serted, quarry stilled, 

Felix journeyed to the city that his hands had 
helped to build. 

In the darkness of the temple, at the closing 

hour of day, 
Once again he sought the altar, once again he 

knelt to pray: 

*'Hear me, O Thou hidden Master; Thou hast 

sent a word to me ; 
It is written — Thy commandment. I have 

kept it. Look and see. 

<« Thou hast bid me leave the visions of the 

solitary life ; 
Bear my part in human labour ; take my share 

in human strife. 

<* I have done Thy bidding, Master ; raised the 

rock and felled the tree ; 
Swung the axe and plied the hammer, working 

every day for Thee. 



20 



*' Once it seemed I saw Thy presence through 
the bending palm-leaves gleam; 

Once upon the flowing w^ater — Nay, I know^ not 
— 'twas a dream ! 

*' This I know : Thou hast been near me : more 

than this I dare not ask. 
Though I see Thee not, I love Thee. Let me 

do Thy humblest task! " 

Through the dimness of the temple slowly 

dawned a mystic light ; 
There the Master stood in glory, manifest to 

mortal sight: 

Hands that bore the mark of labour, brow that 

bore the print of care ; 
Hands of power, divinely tender ; brow of light, 

divinely fair. 

** Hearken, good and faithful servant, true dis- 
ciple, loyal friend ! 

Thou hast followed Me and found Me ; I will 
keep thee to the end. 



21 



** Well I know thy toil and trouble. Often 

weary, fainting, worn, 
I have lived the life of labour,' Jieavy burdens I 

have borne. 

" Never in a prince's palace have I slept on 
golden bed, 

Never in a hermit's cavern have I eaten un- 
earned bread. 

" Born within a lowly stable, where the cattle 

round Me stood. 
Trained a carpenter in Nazareth, I have toiled, 

and found it good. 

" They who tread the path of labour follow 

w^here My feet have trod ; 
They w^ho work without complaining do the 

holy will of God. 

" Where the many toil together, there am I 

among My own ; 
Where the tired workman sleepeth, there am I 

with him alone. 



22 



"I, the peace that passeth knowledge, dwell 
amid the daily strife ; 

I, the bread of heaven, am broken in the sacra- 
ment of life. 

*^ Every task, however simple, sets the soul that 

does it free ; 
Every deed of love and mercy, done to man, is 

done to Me. 

" Thou hast learned the peaceful secret ; thou 

hast come to Me for rest ; 
With thy burden, in thy labour, thou art Felix, 

doubly blest. 

" Nevermore thou needest seek Me ; I am with 

thee everywhere ; 
Raise the stone, and thou shalt find Me ; cleave 

the wood, and I am there." 



23 



ENVOY 

THE GOSPEL OF LABOUR 

T^HE legend of Felix is ended, the toiling of 

Felix is done ; 
The Master has paid him his wages, the goal of 

his journey is won ; 
He rests, but he never is idle ; a thousand years 

pass like a day, 
In the glad surprise of that Paradise where 

work is sweeter than play. 

But I think the King of that country comes out 

from his tireless host. 
And w^alks in this world of the weary, as if He 

loved it the most ; 
For here in the dusty confusion, with eyes that 

are heavy and dim, 
He meets again the labouring men who are 

looking and longing for Him. 



24 



He cancels the curse of Eden, and brings them 

a blessing instead: 
Blessed are they that labour, for Jesus partakes 

of their bread. 
He puts His hand to their burdens, He enters 

their homes at night : 
Who does his best shall have as a guest the 

Master of life and of light. 

And courage will come with His presence, and 

patience return at His touch, 
And manifold sins be forgiven to those who love 

Him much ; 
And the cries of envy and anger will change to 

the songs of cheer, 
For the toiling age will forget its rage when the 

Prince of Peace draws near. 



25 



This is the gospel of labour — ring it, ye bells of 
the kirk — 

The Lord of Love came down from above, to 
live with the men who work. 

This is the rose that He planted, here in the 
thorn-cursed soil — 

Heaven is blest with perfect rest, but the bless- 
ing of Earth is toil. 



26 



VERA 

AN IDYLL 

OF THE MYSTERY OF SOUND 



27 



VERA 

I 

A SILENT world, — yet full of vital joy- 
Uttered in movements manifold, and swift 
Clear smiles that flashed across the face of 

things 
Like sudden sunbeams of divine delight, — 
A world of many sorrows too, made known 
In fading flowers, and withering leaves, and 

dark 
Tear-laden clouds, and tearless, clinging mists 
That hung above the earth too sad to weep, — 
A world of fluent change, and changeless flow, 
And infinite suggestion of new thoughts, 
Reflected in the mirror of the heart 
With shifting colours and dissolving forms. 
From dark to light and back again to dark, — 
A world of many meanings but no words : 
A silent w^orld w^as Vera's home. 

For her 
The hidden doors of sound were shut and sealed. 
The outer portals, delicate as shells. 
Suffused with faintest rose of far-off morn. 
Like underglow of daybreak in the sea, — 
The ear-gates of the garden of her soul, 



29 



Shaded by drooping tendrils of brown hair, * 

Waited in vain for messengers to pass, 

And thread the inner paths with flying feet, 

And swiftly knock upon the inmost doors. 

And enter in, and speak the mystic w^ord 

To Vera, sitting there alone and listening. 

But through those gates no message ever came : 

Only with eyes did she behold and see, — 

"With eyes as crystal-clear and bright and brown 

As "waters of a woodland river, — eyes 

That questioned so they almost seemed to 

speak. 
And answered so they almost seemed to hear, — 
Only with silent eyes did she behold 
The inarticulate wonder of the world. 

She saw the great wind ranging freely down 

Interminable archways of the wood ; 

And tossing boughs and bending tree-tops hailed 

His coming : but no sea-tuned voice of pines, 

No roaring of the oaks, no silvery song 

Of poplars or of birches, followed him: 

He passed ; they waved their arms and clapped 

their hands ; 
But all was still. 



30 



The torrents from the hills 
Leaped down their rocky stairways, like wild 

steeds 
Breaking the yoke and shaking manes of foam. 
The lowland brooks coiled smoothly through 

the fields, 
And softly spread themselves in glistening lakes 
Whose ripples merrily danced among the reeds. 
The standing waves that never change their 

place 
In the swift rapids, curled upon themselves, 
And seemed about to break and never broke ; 
And all the wandering waves that fill the sea 
Came buffeting in along the stony shore, 
And plunging in along the level sands, 
And creeping in through creeks with swirling 

tides 
And eddies. Yet from all the ceaseless flow 
And tumult of the unresting element 
Came neither shout of joy nor sob of grief, 
For there were many waters, but no voice. 

Silent the actors all on Nature's stage 
Performed their parts before her watchful eyes, 
Coming and going, making war and love, 



31 



Working and playing, all without a sound. 
The oxen drew their load with swaying necks, 
The kine came sauntering home along the lane. 
The trooping sheep were driven from field to 

fold, 
In mute obedience. Down the unseen track 
The hounds, with panting sides and lolling 

tongues. 
Pursued their flying prey with noiseless haste. 
The birds, the most alive of living things, 
The quickest to respond to joy and fear, 
Found mates, and built their nests, and reared 

their young. 
And waged their mimic strifes, and flashed 

athwart 
Dark avenues of shade as sparks of light, 
And over sunlit field as spots of shade ; 
They swam the flood cf air like tiny ships 
Rising and falling o'er invisible v^aves, 
And, gathering in great navies, bore away 
To North or South, without a note of song. 

All these were Vera's playmates, and she loved 
To watch them, wondering oftentimes hov7 well 
They knew their parts, and how the drama 
moved 



32 



So swiftly, smoothly on from scene to scene 
Without confusion. But she sometimes 

dreamed 
There must oe something hidden in the play 
Unknown to her, an utterance of life 
More clear than action and more deep than 

looks. 
And this she felt most surely when she watched 
Ker human comrades and the throngs of men. 
They met and parted oft with moving lips 
That seemed to mean far more than she could 

see. 
No deed of anger or of tenderness 
Could bring such sudden changes to the face, 
Could work such magical effects in life, 
As those same dumbly-moving lips* She saw 
A lover bend above a maid beloved 
With moving lips, and, though he touched her 

not, 
Her cheeks bloomed roses and her eyes flashed 

light. 
She sav/ a hater stand before his foe 
And move his lips ; whereat the other shrank 
As if he had been smitten on the mouth. 
She saw great regiments of toiling men 



33 



Marshalled in ranks and led by moving lips. 
But once she saw a sight more strange than all : 
A crowd of people sitting charmed and still 
Around a little company of men 
Who touched their hands in measured, rhyth- 
mic time 
To curious instruments ; a woman stood 
Among them, with bright eyes and heaving 

breast, 
And lifted up her face and moved her lips. 
Then Vera wondered at the idle play, 
But w^hen she looked around, she saw the glow 
Of deep delight on every face, and tears 
Of tender joy in many eyes, as if 
Some visitor from a celestial world 
Had brought glad tidings. But to her alone 
No angel entered, for the choir of sound 
Was vacant in the temple of her soul. 
And none could pass the gates called Beautiful. 

So when, by vision baffled and perplexed. 
She sav/ that all the world could not be seen. 
And knev/ she could not know the whole of life 
Unless the hidden gates should be unsealed. 
She felt imprisoned. In her heart there grew 



34 



The bitter creeping plant of discontent, 
The plant that only grows in prison soil, 
Whose root is hunger and whose fruit is pain. 
The springs of still delight and tranquil joy- 
Were drained as dry as desert dust to feed 
That never-flowering vine, whose tendrils clung 
With strangling touch round every bloom of 

life 
And made it wither. Vera could not rest 
W^ithin the limits of her silent world ; 
Along its spoiled and desolate paths she roamed 
A captive, looking everywhere for rescue. 

In those long distant days, and in that land 
Remote, there lived a Master wonderful, 
W^ho knew the secret of all life, and could. 
With gentle touches and with potent words. 
Open all gates that ever had been sealed. 
And loose all weary prisoners that were bound. 
Obscure he dwelt, not in the wilderness, 
But in a hut among the throngs of men. 
Concealed by meekness and simplicity. 
And ever as he walked the city streets. 
Or sat in quietude beside the sea. 
Or trod the hillsides and the harvest fields, 



35 



The multitude passed by and knew him not. 
But there were some who knew, and turned to 

him 
For help ; and unto all who asked, he gave. 
Thus Vera came, and found him in the field, 
And knew him by the pity in his face. 
She knelt to him and held him by one hand, 
And laid the other hand upon her lips 
In mute entreaty. Then she lifted up 
The coils of hair that hung about her neck 
And bared the beauty of the gates of sound, — 
Those virgin gates through which no voice had 

passed, — 
She made them bare before the Master's sight, 
And looked into the kindness of his face 
^A/'ith eyes that spoke of ail her prisoned pain, 
And told her great desire without a word. 

The Master waited long in silent thought, 

Like one reluctant to bestow a gift. 

Not for the sake of holding back the thing 

Entreated, but because he surely knew 

Of something better that he fain would give 

If only she would ask it. Then he stooped 

To Vera, smiling, touched her ears and spoke : 



36 



" Open, fair gates, and you, reluctant doors, 
W^ithin the ivory labyrinth of the ear, 
Let fall the bar of silence and unfold ! 
Enter, you voices of all living things, 
Enter the garden sealed, — but softly, slowly. 
Not with a noise confused and broken tumult, — 
Come in an order sweet as I command you. 
And bring the double gift of speech and 
hearing." 

Vera began to hear. And first the wind 

Breathed a low prelude of the birth of sound, 

As if an organ far away were touched 

By unseen fingers ; then the little stream 

That hurried down the hillside, swept the harp 

Of music into merry, tinkling notes : 

And then the lark that poised above her head 

On wings a-quiver, overflowed the air 

With showers of song. Thus, one by one, the 

tones 
Of all things living, in an order sweet. 
Without confusion and v/ith deepening power. 
Entered the garden sealed. And last of all 
The Master's voice, the human voice divine, 
Passed through the gates and called her by her 

name, 
And Vera heard. 



37 



II 

What rapture of new life 
Must come to one for whom a silent world 
Is suddenly made vocal, and whose heart 
By the same magic is awaked at once, 
Without the learner's toil and long delay, 
Out of a night of dumbly moving dreams, 
Into a day that overflows with music ! * 
This joy was Vera's ; and to her it seemed 
As if a new creative morn had risen 
Upon the earth, and after the full week 
When living things unfolded silently. 
And after the long, quiet Sabbath day 
When all was still, another week had dawned, 
And through the calm expectancy of heaven 
A secret voice had said, " Lfetall things spveak." 
The world responded with an instant joy ; 
And the untrodden avenues of sound 
Were thronged -with varying forms of viewless 
life. 

To every living thing a voice was given 
Distinct and personal. The forest trees 
Were not more diverse in their shades of green 
Than in their tones of speech ; and every bird 



38 



That nested in their branches had a song 

Unknown to other birds and all his own. 

The waters spoke a hundred dialects 

Of one great language ; now with pattering fall 

Of raindrops on the glistening leaves, and now 

With steady roar of rivers rushing down 

To meet the sea, and now with rhythmic throb 

And measured tumult of tempestuous waves. 

And now with lingering lisp of creeping tides, — 

The manifold discourse of many waters. 

But most of all the human voice was full 

Of infinite variety, and ranged 

Along the scale of life's experience 

With changing tones, and notes both sweet and 

sad. 
All fitted to express some unseen thought, 
Some vital motion of the hidden heart. 
So Vera listened w^ith her new-born sense, 
To all the messengers that passed the gates. 
In measureless delight and utter trust. 
Believing that they brought a true report 
From every living thing of its true life. 
And hoping that at last they would make clear 
The meaning and the mystery of the world. 



39 



But soon there came a trouble in her joy, 
A cloud of doubt across her sky of trust, 
A note discordant that dissolved the chord 
And broke the bliss of hearing into pain. 
Not from the harsher sounds and voices wild 
Of anger and of anguish, that reveal 
The secret strife in nature, and confess 
The touch of sorrow on the heart of life, — 
From these her trouble came not. For in these, 
However sad, she felt the note of truth. 
And truth, though sad, is always musical. 
The raging of the tempest-ridden sea. 
The crash of thunder, and the hollow moan 
Of winds complaining round the mountain- 
crags ; 
The shrill and quavering cry of birds of prey, 
The fiercer voice of conflict-loving beasts, — 
All these wild sounds are potent in their place 
Within life's mighty symphony ; the charm 
Of truth attunes them, and the hearing ear 
Finds pleasure in their rude sincerity. 
Even the broken and tumultuous noise 
That rises from great cities, where the heart 
Of human toil is beating heavily 
With ceaseless murmurs of the labouring pulse, 



40 



Is not a discord ; for it speaks to life 
Of life unfeigned, and full of hopes and fears, 
And touched through all the trouble of its notes 
"With something real and therefore glorious. 

Only one voice of all that sound on earth, — 
One voice alone is utterly discordant. 
And hateful to the soul, and full of pain, — 
The voice of falsehood. And when Vera heard 
This mocking voice, and knew that it was false ; 
When first she learned that human lips can 

speak 
The thing that is not, and betray the ear 
Of simple trust with treachery of words; 
The joy of hearing withered in her heart. 
For now she felt that faithless messengers 
Could pass the open and unguarded gates 
Of sound, and bring a message all untrue. 
Or half* a truth that makes the deadliest lie, 
Or idle babble, neither false nor true. 
But hollow to the heart, and meaningless. 
She heard the flattering voices of deceit, 
That mask the hidden purposes of men 
With fair attire of favourable words, 
And hide the evil in the guise of good. 



41 



The voices vain and decorous and smooth, 
That fill the world with empty-hearted talk 
And pass a worthless coin for gold, she heard. 
The foolish voices, wandering and confused, 
That cannot clearly speak the thing they would, 
But ramble blindly round their true intent 
And tangle sense in hopeless coils of sound, — 
All these she heard, and with a sad mistrust 
Began to doubt the value of her gift. 
It seemed as if the world, the living world. 
Sincere, and deep, and real, were still concealed, 
Shut out by secret gates not yet unclosed, 
And she, within the prison of her soul, 
Still waiting silently to hear the voice 
Of perfect knowledge and of perfect peace. 

So with the burden of her discontent 
She turned to seek the Master once again. 
And found him sitting in the market-place. 
Alone among the careless crowds of men. 
Half-hidden in the shadow of a porch 
And looking out with patient peaceful eyes 
On the confusions of the noisy throng, 
As one who sits beside a whirling stream 
And watches it serenely : for he knows 



42 



The meaning of the tide, and whence it comes, 
And where it flows. 

Then Vera spoke to him: 
"Thy gift was great, dear Master, and my 

heart 
Has thanked thee many times for that first 

touch 
That made the bar of silence fall, and let 
The voices of all living things pass through 
The gates of hearing to my prisoned soul. 
But I have learned that hearing is not all 
I need to make me understand the world. 
For underneath the speech of men, there flows 
Another current of their hidden thoughts. 
The messengers of sound have not revealed 
Life's secret to my heart ; for oftentimes 
They bring a false report, in treachery ; 
And oftentimes with vague and empty words 
They mock my longing to receive the truth. 
Behind the mask of language I perceive 
The eyes of things unuttered ; and I feel 
The throbbing of the real heart of the world 
Beneath the robe of words. Touch me again, 
Dear Master, with thy liberating hand. 
And free me from the bondage of deceit. 



43 



open another gate, and let me hear, 
Without confusion and with clearer sense, 
The hidden thoughts and purposes of men ; 
For only thus my heart shall be at rest. 
And only thus, at last, I shall perceive 
The meaning and the mystery of the world." 

The Master's face v/as turned av^^-ay from her; 
His eyes looked far away, as if he saw- 
Something beyond her sight; and yet she knew 
That he was listening ; for her pleading voice 
No sooner ceased than he put forth his hand 
To touch her brow, and very gently spoke, 
"With face averted, and with lingering words : 
*' Thou seekest for thyself a wondrous gift, — 
The opening of the second gate, — a gift 
That many wise men have desired in vain, — 
But some have found it, — whether well or ill 
For their own peace, they have attained the 

power 
To hear unspoken thoughts of other men. 
And thou hast begged this gift? Thou shalt 

receive, — 
Not knowing what thou seekest, — it is thine : 
The second gate is open ! Thou shalt hear 



44 



All that men feel within their hidden hearts : 
All thoughts that move behind the veil of words 
Thou shalt perceive as clear as if they spoke. 
The gift is granted, daughter, go thy way ! 
But if thou fmdest sorrow on this path, 
Come back again, — there is a path to peace.'* 



45 



Ill 

Beyond our power of vision, poets say, 
There is another world of forms unseen, 
Yet visible to purer eyes than ours. 
And if the crystal of our sight were clear, 
We should behold the mountain-slopes of cloud. 
The moving meadows of the untilled sea, 
The groves of twilight and the dales of dawn. 
And every wide and lonely field of air. 
More populous than cities, crowded close 
With living creatures of all shapes and hues. 
But if that sight were ours, the things that now 
Engage our eyes would seem but dull and dim 
Beside the splendours of our new-found world, 
And we should be amazed and overwhelmed 
Not knowing hov/ to use the plenitude 
Of vision. So in Vera's soul, at first. 
The opening of the second gate of sound 
Let in confusion like a dizzying flood. 
The tumult of a myriad-throated mob ; 
The trampling of an army through a place 
Where echoes hide ; the sudden, clanging 

flight 
Of an innumerable flock of birds 
Along the highway of the midnight sky ; 



46 



The many-whispered rustling of the reeds 
Beneath the footsteps of a thousand winds ; 
The long-drawn, inarticulate, wailing cry 
Of million-pebbled beaches when the scourge 
Of white-lashed waves is curled across their 

back, — 
All these seemed less bewildering than to hear 
What now she heard at once : the tangled 

sound 
Of all that moves within the minds of men. 
For now there was no measured flow of words 
To mark the time ; nor any key of speech, 
Though false, to bring a seeming harmony 
Into the sound ; nor any interval 
Of silence to repose the listening ear. 
But through the dead of night, and through the 

calm 
Of weary noon-tide, through the solemn hush 
That fills the temple in the pause of praise. 
And through the breathless awe in rooms of 

death. 
She heard the ceaseless motion and the stir 
Of never-silent hearts, that fill the world 
With interwoven thoughts of good and ill, 
With mingled music of delight and grief. 



47 



With songs of love, and bitter cries of hate, 
With hymns of faith, and dirges of despair. 
And murmurs deeper and more vague than 

all,— 
Thoughts that are born and die vs^ithout a 

name. 
Or rather, never die, but haunt the soul. 
With sad persistence, till a name is given. 
These Vera heard, at first with heart perplexed 
And half-benumbed by the disordered sound. 
But soon a clearer sense began to pierce 
The cloudy turmoil "with discerning power. 
She learned to know the tones of human 

thought 
As plainly as she knew the tones of speech. 
She could divide the evil from the good, 
Interpreting the language of the mind. 
And tracing every feeling like a thread 
Through all the mystic web that passion 

w^eaves 
From heart to heart around the living world. 
Then, — when at last the Master's second gift 
Was perfected v/ithin her, and she heard 
And understood the secret thoughts of men, — 
Then sadness fell upon her, and the weight 



48 



Of an intolerable knowledge pressed her down 
With weary wishes to know more, or less. 
For all she knew was like a broken word 
Inscribed upon the fragment of a ring ; 
And all she heard was like a troubled strain 
Preluding music that is never played. 

Then she remembered in her sad unrest, 

The Master's parting word, — *' a path to 

peace,'* — 
And turned again to seek him with her grief. 
She found him in a hollow of the hills 
Beside a little spring that issued forth 
From broken rocks and filled an emerald cup 
With never-failing water. There he sat, 
With waiting looks that welcomed her afar, 
And smiling lips that gently bade her speak. 
** I know that thou hast heard, my child," he 

said, 
"For all the wonder of the w^orld of sound 
Is written in thy face. But hast thou heard, 
Among the many voices, one of peace ? 
And is thy heart that hears the secret thoughts, 
The hidden wishes and desires of men, 
Content with hearing ? Art thou satisfied ? " 



49 



"Nay, Master," she replied, "thou knowest 

well 
That I am not at rest, nor have I heard 
The voice of perfect peace. For all I hear 
Brings me disquiet and a troubled mind. 
The evil voices in the souls of men. 
Voices of rage and cruelty and fear 
Have not dismayed me ; for I have perceived 
The voices of the good, the kind, the true 
Are more in number and excel in strength. 
There is more love than hate, more hope than 

fear. 
In the mixed murmur of the human heart. 
But while I listen to the mighty sound. 
One thing torments me, and destroys my rest 
And presses me w^ith dull, unceasing pain. 
For out of all the minds of all mankind. 
And through all voices of unuttered thought, 
There rises evermore a questioning voice 
That asks the meaning of this widespread 

world 
And finds no answer, — asks, and asks again, 
^A/'ith patient pleading or with wild complaint, 
But wakens no response, except the sound 
Of other questions, wandering to and fro, 



50 



From other souls in doubt. And this one 

voice 
Rises above all others that I hear, 
And binds them up together into one, 
Until the mingled murmur of the world 
Sounds through the secret places of my heart 
Like an eternal question, vainly asked, 
By every human soul that thinks and feels, 
And vainly echoed back, without reply. 
This is the heaviness that weighs me down, 
And this the pain that will not let me rest. 
Therefore, dear Master, shut the gates again, 
And let me live in silence as before I 
Or else, — and if there is indeed a gate 
Unopened yet, through which I might receive 
An answer in the voice of perfect peace — " 

She ceased ; and in her upward faltering tone 
The question echoed. 

Then the Master said: 
" There is another gate, not yet unclosed. 
For through the outer portals of the ear 
Only the outer voice of things may pass ; 
And through the middle doorv/ays of the mind 
Only the half-formed voice of human thoughts, 



51 



Uncertain and perplexed with endless doubt; 
But through the inmost gate the spirit hears 
The voice of that great Spirit who is Life. 
Beneath the tones of living things, He breathes 
A deeper tone than ever ear hath heard ; 
And underneath the troubled thoughts of men, 
He thinks forever, and His thought is peace. 
Behold, I touch thee once again, my child : 
The third and last of those three hidden gates 
That closed around thy soul and shut thee in, 
Falls open now, and thou shalt truly hear." 

Then Vera heard. The spiritual gate 
Was opened softly as a full-blown flower 
Unfolds its heart to welcome in the dawn, 
And on her listening face there shone a light 
Of still amazement and completed joy 
In the full gift of hearing. 

What she heard 
I cannot tell ; nor could she ever tell 
In words ; because all human words are vain ; 
There is no speech nor language to express 
The secret messages of God, that make 
Perpetual music in the hearing heart. 
Below the voice of waters, and above 



52 



The wandering voice of winds, and underneath 
The song of birds, and through all varying 

tones 
Of living things that fill the world with sound, 
God spoke to her, and all she heard was peace. 

So when the Master questioned, ''Dost thou 

hear?" 
She answered, " Yea, at last I hear." And 

then 
He asked her once again, " What hearest thou ? 
What means the voice of Life ? " She answered, 

" Love ! 
For love is life, and they who do not love 
Are not alive. But every soul that loves, 
Lives in the heart of God and hears Him 

speak." 



53 



ANOTHER CHANCE 
"a lyric 

FROM LIFE'S MONODRAMA 



55 



ANOTHER CHANCE 

r^OME, give me back my life again, you heavy- 
handed Death ! 
Uncrook your fingers from my throat, and let 

me draw my breath. 
You do me wrong to take me now — too soon 

for me to die — 
Ah, loose me from this clutching pain, and hear 

the reason why. 

I know I 've had my forty years, and wasted 

every one ; 
And yet, I tell you honestly, my life is not begun ; 
I 've walked the world like one asleep, a dreamer 

in a trance ; 
But now you 've gripped me wide awake — I 

want another chance. 

My dreams were always beautiful, my thoughts 

were high and fine ; 
No life was ever lived on earth to match those 

dreams of mine. 
And would you wreck them unfulfilled? What 

folly, nay, what crime ! 
You rob the world, you waste a soul — give me 

a little time. 



57 



You '11 hear me ? Yes, I 'm sure you will, my 

hope is not in vain : 
I feel the even pulse of peace, the sweet relief 

from pain ; 
The black fog rolls away from me ; I 'm free 

once more to plan : 
Another chance is all I need to prove myself a 

man. 

The world is full of warfare 'twixt the evil and 
the good ; 

I watched the battle from afar as one that 
understood 

The shouting and confusion, the bloody, blun- 
dering fight — 

How few there are that see it clear, how few 
that wage it right ! 

The captains flushed with foolish pride, the sol- 
diers pale with fear. 

The faltering flags, the feeble fire from ranks 
that swerve and veer, 

The wild mistakes, the dismal doubts, the cow- 
ard hearts that flee — 

The good cause needs a nobler knight to win the 
victory. 



58 



A man whose soul is pure and strong, whose 

sword is bright and keen, 
Who knows the splendour of the fight and what 

its issues mean ; 
Who never takes one step aside, nor halts, 

though hope be dim, 
But cleaves a pathway thro' the strife, and bids 

men follow^ him. 

No blot upon his stainless shield, no weakness 

in his arm ; 
No sign of trembling in his face to break his 

valor's charm : 
One man like this could stay the flight and lead 

the wavering line ; 
Ah, give me but a year of life — I '11 make that 

glory mine ! 

Religion ? Yes, I know it well ; I 've heard its 
prayers and creeds, 

And seen men put them all to shame with poor, 
half-hearted deeds. 

They follow Christ, but far away ; they wander 
and they doubt. 

I '11 serve him in a better way, and live his pre- 
cepts out. 



59 



You see, I 've waited just for this ; I could not 
be content 

To own a feeble, faltering faith with human 
weakness blent. 

Too many runners in the race move slowly, 
stumble, fall ; 

But I will run so straight and swift I shall out- 
strip them all. 

Oh, think what it will mean to men, amid their 

foolish strife. 
To see the clear, unshadowed light of one true 

Christian life. 
Without a touch of selfishness, without a taint 

of sin, — 
With one short month of such a life a new world 

would begin ! 

And love! — I often dream of that — the treasure 

of the earth ; 
How little they who use the coin have realized 

its worth ! 
*T will pay all debts, enrich all hearts, and make 

all joys secure. 
But love, to do its perfect work, must be sincere 

and pure. 



60 



My heart is full of virgin gold. I '11 pour it out 

and spend 
My hidden wealth, with lavish hand, on all who 

call me friend. 
Not one shall miss the kindly deed, the largess 

of relief, 
The generous fellowship of joy, the sympathy 

of grief. 

I '11 say the loyal, helpful things that make life 

sweet and fair, 
I '11 pay the gratitude I owe for human love and 

care. 
Perhaps I 've been at fault sometimes — I '11 ask 

to be forgiven. 
And make this very room of mine seem like a 

little heaven. 

For one by one I '11 call my friends to stand be- 
side my bed ; 

I '11 speak the true and tender words that I have 
left unsaid ; 

And every heart shall throb and glow, all cold- 
ness melt away 

Around my altar-fire of love — ah, give me but 
one day ! 



6i 



What 's that ? I 've had another day, and 

wasted it again ? 
A priceless day, in empty dreams, — another 

chance in vain ? 
Thou fool — this night — it's very dark — the 

last — this choking breath — 
One prayer — have mercy on a dreamer's soul 

— God, this is death. 



62 



SEVEN SMALL SONGS 
IN DIFFERENT KEYS 



&3 



THE ANGLER'S REVEILLE 

TXTHAT time the rose of dawn is laid across 

the lips of night, 
And all the drowsy little stars have fallen asleep 

in light ; 
'T is then a wandering wind awakes, and runs 

from tree to tree, 
And borrows words from all the birds to sound 

the reveille. 

This is the carol the Robin throws 
Over the edge of the valley ; 

Listen how boldly it flows, 
Sally on sally : 

Tiira.-Urra, 
Do^n the ri'ver. 
Laughing <zvater 
Alt a-qui'ver* 
Day is near. 
Clear, dear* 
Fish are breaking. 
Time for ^waking. 
Tup, tup, tup I 
T>o you hear ? 
All dear— 
Wake up ! 



65 



The phantom flood of dreams has ebbed and 

vanished with the dark, 
And like a dove the heart forsakes the prison 

of the ark ; 
Now forth she fares through friendly woods 

and diamond-fields of dew, 
While every voice cries out '* Rejoice ! " as if 

the world were new. 

This is the ballad the Bluebird sings, 

Unto his mate replying, 
Shaking the tune from his wings 

While he is flying : 

Surely^ surety, surety. 

Life is dear 

E<ven here* 

Btae aboife. 

You to to've, 
Surety, purety, purety. 



65 



There 's wild azalea on the hill, and roses down 
the dell, 

And just one spray of lilac still abloom beside 
the well ; 

The columbine adorns the rocks, the laurel buds 
grow pink, 

Along the stream w^hite arums gleam, and vio- 
lets bend to drink 

This is the song of the Yellowthroat, 
Fluttering gaily beside you ; 

Hear how each voluble note 
Offers to guide you : 

Which 'wa.y, sir ? 
I say, sir. 
Let me teach you, 
I beseech you ! 
Are you 'wishing 
Jolty fishing ? 
This "way, sir I 
I ^11 teach you* 



67 



Then come, my friend, forget your foes, and 
leave your fears behind. 

And wander forth to try your luck, with cheer- 
ful, quiet mind ; 

For be your fortune great or small, you '11 take 
what God may give. 

And all the day your heart shall say, " 'T is luck 
enough to live." 

This is the song the Brown Thrush flings 

Out of his thicket of roses ; 
Hark how it warbles and rings, 

Mark how it closes : 

Luck, tuck. 
What tuck? 
Good enougt) for me I 
I'm atwe, you see* 
Sun stiining. 
No repining ; 
Never horro'V) 
Idte sorro<zv ; 
Thop it! 
Copoer Hup I 
Hotd your cup I 
Joy 'witl fitt it. 
Don't spitt it. 
Steady, be ready^ 
Good tuck I 



68 



A BIT OF GOOD LUCK 

May 4tht 1898, — To-day, fishing dcywn the S<wift<waier, I 
found Joseph Jefferson on a big rock in the middle of the brook, 
casting the fly for trout. He said he had fished this <very 
stream three-and-forty years ago, Le^f from my Diary, 

■^l^E met on Nature's stage, 

And May had set the scene, 
With bishop-caps standing in delicate ranks, 
And violets blossoming over the banks, 
While the brook ran full between. 

The waters rang your call, 

With frolicsome waves a-twinkle, — 
They 'd known you as boy, and they knew you 

as man, 
And every wave, as it merrily ran, 

Cried, " Enter Rip van Winkle ! " 



69 



A SLUMBER-SONG 

FOR THE FISHERMAN'S CHILD 

■pURL your sail, my little boatie ; 

Here 's the haven, still and deep, 
Where the dreaming tides, in-streaming, 

Up the channel creep. 
See, the sunset breeze is dying; 
Hark, the plover, landward flying, 
Softly down the twilight crying ; 

Come to anchor, little boatie, 
In the port of Sleep. 

Far away, my little boatie. 

Roaring waves are white with foam ; 
Ships are striving, onward driving, 

Day and night they roam. 
Father 's at the deep-sea trawling. 
In the darkness, rowing, hauling. 
While the hungry winds are calling, — 
God protect him, little boatie. 
Bring him safely home ! 



71 



Not for you, my little boatie, 

Is the wide and weary sea ; 
You're too slender, and too tender, 

You must rest with me. 
All day long you have been straying 
Up and down the shore and playing; 
Come to port, make no delaying ! 
Day is over, little boatie, 
Night falls suddenly. 

Furl your sail, my little boatie , 

Fold your wings, my tired dove. 
Dews are sprinkling, stars are twinkling 

Drov7sily above. 
Cease from sailing, cease from rowing ; 
Rock upon the dream-tide, knowing 
Safely o'er your rest are glowing. 

All the night, my little boatie, 
Harbour-lights of love. 



72 



THE ECHO IN THE HEART 

TT'S little I can tell 

About the birds in books ; 

And yet I know them well, 

By their music and their looks: 

When May comes down the lane, 
Her airy lovers throng 
To welcome her with song, 
And follow in her train : 
Each minstrel weaves his part 
In that wild-flowery strain, 
And I know^ them all again 
By their echo in my heart. 



73 



It 's little that I care 

About my darling's place 

in books of beauty rare, 
Or heraldries of race: 

For when she steps in view, 
It matters not to me 
"What her sweet type may be, 
Of woman, old or new. 
I can't explain the art ; 
But I know her for my own, 
Because her lightest tone 
Wakes an echo in my heart. 



74 



A NOVEMBER DAISY 

A FTERTHOUGHT of summer's bloom! 

Late arrival at the feast, 
Coming "when the songs have ceased 
And the merry guests departed, 
LfCaving but an empty room. 
Silence, solitude, and gloom ! 
Are you lonely, heavy-hearted ; 
You, the last of all your kind, 
Nodding in the autumn wind ; 
Now that all your friends are flown, 
Blooming late and all alone ? 

Nay, I wrong you, little flower, 
Reading mournful mood of mine 
In your looks, that give no sign 
Of a spirit dark and cheerless : 
You possess the heavenly pow^er 
That rejoices in the hour, 
Glad, contented, free, and fearless, — 
Lifts a sunny face to heaven 
When a sunny day is given ; 
Makes a summer of its own. 
Blooming late and all alone. 



75 



Once the daisies gold and white 
Sea-like through the meadows rolled : 
Once my heart could hardly hold 
All its pleasures, — I remember, 
In the flood of youth's delight 
Separate joys were lost to sight. 
That was summer ! Now November 
Sets the perfect flower apart ; 
Gives each blossom of the heart 
Meaning, beauty, grace unknown, — 
Blooming late and all alone. 



76 



THE RIVER OF DREAMS 

T^HE river of dreams runs softly down 

From its hidden spring in the forest of sleep, 
With a measureless motion calm and deep ; 

And my boat slips out on the current brown, 
In a tranquil bay where the trees incline 
Far over the waves, and creepers twine 
Far over the boughs, as if to steep 
Their drowsy blooms in the stream, that 

goes. 
By a secret way that no man knows. 

Under the branches bending, 

On through the shadows blending, — 

While the body rests, and the passive soul 
Is drifted along to an unseen goal, 

And the river of dreams runs down. 



n 



The river of dreams runs smoothly down, 
With a leisurely tide that bears my bark 
Out of the visionless woods of dark, 

Into a world where day-beams crown 
Valley and hill with light from far, 
Clearer than sun or moon or star. 
Luminous, wonderful, weird, oh, mark 
How the radiance pulses everywhere, 
Through the lucent sky and the shadowless 
air! 

Over the mountains shimmering. 

Up from the fountains glimmering, — 

'T is the mystical glow of the inner light, 
That shines in the very noon of night, 

Where the river of dreams runs down. 



78 



The river of dreams runs murmuring down, 
Through the fairest garden that ever grew ; 
And I catch, as my boat goes drifting 
through, 

A mingled music that seems to drown 

The river's whisper, and charms my ear 
With a sound I have often longed to hear, — 
A magical harmony, strange and new, 
A wild-rose ballad, a lilac-song, 
A virginal chant from the lilies' throng, 

Blue-bells silverly ringing, 

Pansies merrily singing, — 

For all the flowers have found their voice ; 
And I feel no wonder, but only rejoice, 

While the river of dreams runs down. 



79 



The river of dreams runs broadening down, 
Away from the peaceful garden-shore, 
"With a current that deepens more and more. 

By the league-long walls of a mighty town. 
I see the hurrying crowds of men 
Dissolve like clouds and gather again, 
But never a face I have seen before ; 
For they come and go, and they shift and 

change. 
And even the forms and the dresses are 
strange : 

This is a city haunted, 

A multitude enchanted ! 

At the sight of the throng I am dumb with 

fear, 
For never a sound from their lips I hear. 

As the river of dreams runs down. 



80 



The river of dreams runs wildly down 
' Into the heart of a desolate land, 

By ruined temples half-buried in sand, 
Thro' a cleft of the hills, whose black brows 
frown 

Over the shuddering, lonely wave, 

While the air grows dim with the dust of 
the grave. 

No sign of life on the dreary strand ; 

No ray of light on the mountain's crest; 

And a weary wind that cannot rest 
Comes down the valley creeping. 
Lamenting, wailing, weeping, — 

I strive to cry out, but my fluttering breath 

Is choked with the clinging fog of death, 
While the river of dreams runs down. 



8i 



The river of dreams runs swiftly down, 
Out of the valley of nameless fear, 
Into a country calm and clear. 

With a mystical name of high renown, — 
A name that I know, but may not tell, — 
And there the friends that I loved so well 
The long-lost comrades, forever dear. 
Come beckoning down to the river shore. 
And hail my boat with the voice of yore. 

Fair and sweet are the places 

Where I see their unchanged faces ! 

And I feel in my heart with a secret thrill, 
That the loved and lost are living still, 

While the river of dreams runs down. 



82 



The river of dreams runs silently down 
By a secret way that no man knows ; 
But the soul lives on while the dream-tide 

flows 
Through the gardens bright, or the forests 

brown ; 
And I think sometimes that our whole life 

seems 
To be more than half made up of dreams. 
For its changing sights, and its passing 

shows, 
And its morning hopes, and its midnight 

fears, 
Are left behind with the vanished years. 
Onw^ard, with ceaseless motion, 
The life-stream flows to the ocean, — 

And we follow the tide, awake or asleep, 
Till we see the dawn on Love's great deep, 
When the bar at the harbour-mouth is 

crossed, 
And the river of dreams in the sea is lost. 



83 



THE RUBY-CROWNED KINGLET 



■yy^HERE 'S your kingdom, little king? 

Where 's the land you call your own, 
Where 's your palace, and your throne ? 

Fluttering lightly on the wing 

Through the blossom-world of May, 
Whither lies your royal way ? 
Where 's the realm that owns your sway, 
Little king ? 

Far to northward lies a land. 
Where the trees together stand 
Closer than the blades of <wheat, 
When the summer is complete* 
Like a robe the forests hide 
Lonely 'vale and mountain side: 
Balsam, hemlock, spruce and pine, — 
All those mighty trees are mine* 
There ^s a river flowing free; 
All its <Tva'ves belong to me* 
There 's a lake so clear and bright 
Stars shine out of it all night. 



85 



And the rowan-bemes red 
Round it like a girdle spread. 
Feasting plentiful and fine. 
Air that cheers the heart like <wine. 
Royal pleasures hy the score. 
Wait for me in Labrador 
There I' II build my dainty nest ; 
There I'll fix my court and rest; 
There from da<wn to dark I'll sing 
Happy kingdom ! Lucky king I 



II 



Back again, my little king ! 
Is your happy kingdom lost 
To that rebel knave, Jack Frost? 

Have you felt the snow-flakes sting? 
Autumn is a rude disrober : 
Houseless, homeless in October, 
Whither now ? Your plight is sober, 
Exiled king ! 

Far to southward lie the regions 
Where my loyal flo^wer- leg ions 



86 



Hold possession of the year. 
Filling e^ery month <Tvith cheer* 
Christmas <wakes the <winter rose; 
Nem) Year daffodils unclose; 
YelloTV jasmine through the "woods 
Runs in March <with golden floods, 
dropping from the tallest trees 
Shining streams that never freeze* 
Thither I must find my <way* 
Fly by night and feed by day. 
Villi see the southern moon 
Glistening on the broad lagoon. 
Where the cypress^ 'vivid green. 
And the dark magnolia's sheen, 
Wea've a shelter round my home* 
There the snowstorms never come 
There the bannered mosses gray 
In the breezes gently s'way. 
Hanging lorn) on every side 
Round the covert where I hide* 
There I hold my winter court. 
Full of merriment and sport : 
There I take my ease and sing : 
Happy kingdom! Lucky king! 



87 



Ill 



Little boaster, vagrant king ! 

Neither north nor south is yours : 
You 've no kingdom that endures. 

Wandering every fall and spring, 
With your painted crown so slender, 
And your talk of royal splendour 
Must I call you a Pretender, 
Landless king ? 

Never king hy right divine 
Ruled a richer realm than mine I 
What are lands and golden crowns. 
Armies, fortresses and to<wns. 
Jewels, scepters, robes and rings, — 
What are these to song and <zvings ? 
E'very^where that I can fly. 
There I o<Tvn the earth and sky ; 
Everywhere that I can sing. 
There I 'm happy as a king. 



88 



CffQ. 



Printed for Charles Scribner's Sons, at the 
University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts 



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